Mors Vincit Omnia: the 55th Hunger Games
by sashaandrovna
Summary: The brave will stand and fight. The meek may run and hide. But in the end death always wins. (SYOT open 7/24 spaces available)
1. Introduction

Mors Vincit Omnia: The 55th Hunger Games

**The Capitol: Aurelia Laverne, 13**

The boy from District 2 is dying. It's obvious from the way his breath rises in gasps, how the camera focuses on the dark pulse of blood that seeps through his shirt.

"Such a shame." Sighs the green haired woman, perched like a bird on the edge of the couch, eyes fixed on the screen. There's a general murmur of agreement. After all she's said what everyone is thinking: what a shame that this bright, beautiful boy had to die.

The camera pans away for a moment, flitting to his opponent. The boy from 5 is struggling to rise, one of his legs obviously broken. A dark trickle of blood run from his temple, where the boy from District 2 had struck him with his mace.

"This is it." Whispers a man with silver face tattoos, his voice almost reverent. "Any minute now."

The woman tries to cover the eyes of her daughter, sitting on the couch beside her. The girls swats her hands away.

"I want to see." Instead, Aurelia seizes her mother's hand, holding it in a vicelike grip. Her breath catches as the camera pans back to the fallen tribute. She recalls just how stunning the boy from District 2 had been at the opening ceremony. With his golden hair and dark eyes, she'd fallen in love with him instantly. She'd begged her parents to let her sponsor him and cursed them when they'd claimed she was too young. _I'm 13 I can do what I want!_

Now he lays broken and dying and no amount of sponsorship money could save him.

On the other side of the rocky ledge the boy from 5 has found his feet. With a halting, stumbling gate he drags himself to where the boy from 2 lays. Aurelia wrinkles her nose. It's unfair really, that this scrawny, short boy who had sat sullenly through the interviews should be victor.

On the ground District 2 has begun to gasp, choking on his own blood. It's almost a relief when the District 5 boy falls on him with a drawn knife, cutting short those awful gurgling breaths with a slash across the throat.

The anthem begins to play. Beyond the glass windows of the sitting room Aurelia can hear cheers breaking out, the sounds of celebration. The 54th Hunger Games are over.

"Marvelous. Simply marvelous." Her father claps his hands. "What a twist. I never would have pegged…what's his name?" He checks the government provided program which lists all the names and final placements of the tributes. "Adom! I never would have pegged him as the victor."

Aurelia frowns. "I wish he was more handsome." What was the point of an ugly victor anyways?

Her mother pats her head with one manicured hand. "There, there darling. I know you were very fond of that District 2 boy."

Aurelia shrugs, her mind already flitting away from the images of her ruined tribute. Her friend Appia had promised to host a party after the games, to celebrate the newest victory. She'd been planning to wear bronze in honor of District 2, which is now off the table. Her mother always tells her how well bronze goes with her dark hair. Of course, her hair will look awful with District 5 silver…

"Mama, do you think I can dye my hair tomorrow?"

**Welcome to the 55****th**** Hunger Games everyone. I hope you enjoyed this little intro (the hardest part about writing a Syot imo). Tributes submissions will be accepted via PM; the list of available tributes as well as the submission form can be found on my profile. I look forward to meeting your tributes. **


	2. List of Tributes

**This is the official list of Tributes thus far. I will be updating both this list as well as the one on my profile as time goes on and I receive more submissions. Also worth noting: I will be writing reapings in order of district, not in order of which district fills up first (in case you are looking to submit but don't know which district to choose).**

Tribute List:

**District 1:**

M: Sterling Jacinth (18) -_Bastetmoon_

F: Patina Merchant (18) -_Sitiah3_

**District 2:**

M: Darius Ivenkoap (18) - _Guesttwelve_

F: Ariadne Landers (18_) -Lilah32_

**District 3:**

M: Malcolm Joyner (16) -_Lilah32_

F: Ada Linux (13) -_CrissKenobie-the-Numenorean_

**District 4:**

M: Roland O'Neil (17) -_ASimpleMind94_

F: Marya Jettsen (18)- _Bastetmoon_

**District 5:**

M:

F: Monday Shock (15)- _Annabeth Pie_

**District 6:**

M: Sam Opena (15)_ CrissKenobie-the-Numenorean_

F:

**District 7:**

M: Ash Birch (12) -_DefoNotaFangirl_

F: Ashley Birch (12)-_DefoNotaFangirl_

**District 8:**

M:

F:

**District 9:**

M:

F: Lilah Collins (16) -_glittergirl20_

**District 10:**

M:

F:

**District 11:**

M: _reserved_

F: Ianthe Rhodes (16)- _dyloccupy_

**District 12:**

M:

F:


	3. District 1 Reaping

**And we're off with the first reaping! As I mentioned previously I'll be doing the districts in order so stay tuned for district 2. Hope everyone enjoys meeting our first two tributes. **

District 1 Reaping

**Sterling Jacinth (18)**

The double doors of the academy slam open with a bang. My friends and I spill into the entry chamber with its polished marble floor. Lining the walls portraits of previous victors stare down disapprovingly. From behind the mahogany doors the sounds of shouting and general chaos are still audible.

"Did you see their faces?" Onyx doubles over, his laughs coming in short little wheezes. "I thought old Ovinski's head was going to explode."

"I wish he had, would've been worth seeing." I can't deny, planting firecrackers underneath the head table had been one of my better ideas. The Head Trainer—Jet Ovinski—had been halfway through his annual speech on honor and loyalty to the Capitol when the fireworks had made themselves known with a loud bang and a conflagration of sparks.

"Do you think they'll know it was us?" Next to Onyx Paris looks nervous.

I shrug. "Does it matter? We're 18, after this afternoon we're be free forever." Or at least they will be. I'll be on a train bound for the capitol. A shiver of excitement races down my spine at the thought. No more tense family meals or lectures from my father. Only fantastic parties, adoring fans, and the flash of the camera.

I check the silver watch at my wrist—a present for my 18th birthday. "We should get going." There's still an hour until the reaping but I want to get there early. I have to be where the cameras can see me.

Before we can leave the door to the great hall creek open. Patina Merchant slips out, stopping dead when she sees up. Her face contorts into a grimace.

"Of course it would be _you_." I can't help but notice that she's already decked out in her reaping day best—a frilly white sundress that makes her look more like a doll than a tribute ready for the games. Blonde curls bounce around her face like coils.

I give her a mock salute. "Happy reaping day Patina."

She crosses her arms as we approach. "The headmaster's gonna kill you, you know that?"

I spread my arms and put on my best innocent voice: the one I usually reserve for nights my father catches me sneaking home after curfew. "Patina you wound me. Why would _I_ disturb such an important celebration?"

Her eyes narrow and she toys with the end of her hair. _A shame really that she doesn't smile more, she wouldn't look half bad without the scowl._ "I don't know. Have you ever needed an excuse to cause mayhem before?"

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Sorry we can't all be as perfect as you Pats." Her frown deepens at the nickname. "Besides even if it was me, what's he gonna do? Send me into the games?" Behind me Paris lets out a little snicker.

"You might try to have a little respect." There's acid in her voice. "Being chosen for the games is an honor."

"Is that why your parents are sending you in honor? Or is it because your dad finally gambled away the last of the family fortune?" There's hardly anyone in the academy who hasn't heard the rumors about her family. The Merchant's might be an old name in District 1 but that doesn't exempt them from gossip.

A slight flush rise in her cheeks and I can tell I've hit a nerve. "You don't know what you're talking about."

I raise an eyebrow. "Don't I? Everyone knows you only get to train here because your mom and the headmaster are—

"You talk too much Sterling." Patina smiles, and I immediately decide I prefer the frown. Her eyes are like ice. "If I were you, I'd shut my mouth before someone shuts it for me."

"Is that a threat Pats?" I'd being lying if I said I wasn't impressed. While we've trained together for years I've never known Patina to speak out during lessons. She keeps her head down and follows orders without question. Turns out little-miss-perfect has a ruthless streak just like the rest of us.

"Just be careful."

"Likewise." I give her a wink. "See you at the reaping."

She turns on her heal and flounces out the academy door, blonde curls bouncing. Onyx lets out a low whistle.

* * *

**Patina Merchant (18)**

I rock backwards and forwards on the balls of me feet, craning my neck to get a glimpse of what's going on up on the stage. Not for the first time I curse my mother's side of the family for passing me the gene of shortness.

Like every year the square in front of the justice building is packed to bursting. Kids from every part of District 1 cram into the roped off area just in front of the newly erected stage, while their parents are left to find space where they can. There's a particularly festive feeling in the air, that I don't recall from previous reapings. Banners have been hung from a few store fronts, and more than one person in the crowd sports a little District 1 flag.

They must know. While the Academy pick for each years volunteers is supposed to remain a secret until the candidate actually mounts the reaping stage, clearly someone—probably Sterling—has let slip the names of this year's hopefuls.

Everyone's always excited to find out the selected academy students. Not only is it an immense honor to the student's families, but academy volunteers always make it farther in the games than other tributes. Last year two scrawny kids from the jewelers district beat the academy candidates to the stage. They both died on the second day, and people are understandably eager to return to more qualified tributes.

I can see Sterling from my place among the other 18 year old girls. His untidy blonde hair is hard to miss, standing at least a head over most of the other boys.

Our earlier altercation still stings. I've never liked Sterling—his ego and his penchant for misconduct don't win any points in my book—but taking blows at my family is a low blow even for him. Not all of us were lucky enough to be born into perfect families where everything is handed to us on a silver platter. I'll make him pay for that once we're in the games.

Up on the stage our ever-cheerful escort, Servilla fuses with the microphone. Behind her our mayor and the two victors who will be serving as mentors this year sit on carefully laid out chairs. I recognize the man immediately: Charles Lacourt. I've watched the reruns of his games half a dozen times. His victory over a club wielding boy from 4 is generally remembered as one of the greatest highlights of Hunger Games history. The dark-haired woman next to him is also well known to me, though in my books her reputation is far less admirable. Beryl Carter won her games, not through skill with weapons or strength but by appealing the baser desires of capitol citizens. They showered her in so many sponsorships that she'd hardly lifted a finger her entire time in the arena.

I fervently hope that my house in the victors village won't be situated next to hers. From what I've heard she entertains a less than savory crew. Of course I could always move back in with my parents, but I've sworn to myself that, after my fathers debts are cleared I'll never step a toe inside that mildewed old house again.

The clock strikes ten and the reaping is off like clockwork. Servilla practically prances up to the front of the stage. Every year she choosing a different color scheme, and this year it appears periwinkle blue is her pick. A large plastic butterfly teeters dangerously on top of her curls.

"Welcome everyone! This year we will select one lucky young man and woman to compete in the 55th annual Hunger Games."

There are cheers from the crowd. Everyone is eager to get the show started. Servilla wastes no time on the pleasantries, instead crossing to the first of the two reaping bowls.

I don't even wait for her to read the name before I begin to shove my way through the crowd. My heart hammers. The academy might have picked me, but if I'm too slow my spot could still be snatched away by someone else.

"I volunteer! I volunteer!"

I push past the last cluster of 12 year olds and breathlessly race up the steps. Servilla takes my hand and guides me to the center of the stage. The capitol cameras flash as I look out across the assembly. I can't help but scan the crowd for my parents. I find my mother standing easily enough, a few places back from the roped off area, not far from Headmaster Ovinski. She smiles and waves encouragingly. My father—unsurprisingly—is nowhere to be seen—probably off in a side alley taking bets on how many days into the games I'll make it. The thought makes my stomach churn.

"A volunteer, how exciting!" Servilla beams at me, drawing my attention back to the matter at hand. "And what's your name darling?"

I raise my chin and try to make my voice sound as calm and confident as possible "Patina Merchant." A small cheer goes up.

"What a lovely young lady." She pats me on the shoulder with her heavily manicured hand. "Now for the boys!"

Servilla crosses to the second bowl and pulls out a glossy white strip of paper. Servilla barely has time to read out the name before a voice calls out to volunteer. Sterling shoulders his way through the crowd and bounds up on stage.

"And what's your name young man?"

"I'm Sterling Jacinth." He grins at the crowd, sending a special wink in the direction of the cameras. I have to fight not to roll my eyes. "But you can just call me District 1's next victor."

Servilla lets out a little giggle. "There you have it ladies and gentlemen: the tributes from District 1. If you could please shake hands.

We turn to face each other. Sterling raises one blonde eyebrow as we shake. "Good luck Patina."

I dig my nails into the back of his hand and I see him wince. _Good. District 1's golden boy bleeds like the rest of us. _ "Good luck Sterling."

* * *

**Sterling Jacinth (18)**

"My boy. My only son." My mother is crying, as if my entering the games is a surprise, not something we've planned for since I was nine. Violent sobs shake her body as she clings to the front of my shirt. I roll my eyes and pat her on the back.

It's my father who steps in after several more seconds of hysterical sobs. "Pull yourself together Citrine. You're making a scene."

I could point out that the only people witnessing this _scene_, apart from our small family, are the peacekeepers stationed on either side of the door, but I hold my tongue. I'm not really in the mood for a spat today.

"I'm sorry." She apologizes with a shaky breath. "I'm sorry you're right."

As gently as I can I push her away and smooth out the slightly damp front of my shirt. "Don't worry mom. I'll be back in no time at all."

"You there." My father snaps him fingers at one of the waiting peacekeepers. "Take her out until she's composed herself."

The man helps my mother to her feet and escorts her out of the room, door clicking shut behind them. I'm left alone, pinioned under my father's icy gaze.

"I wanted to talk to you before you left, father to son." He sinks into the chair next to me. "The entire country will be watching you in these games. If you dare to dishonor me…" He doesn't need to finish the sentence.

"I know, I know." I wave a hand causally. "Better to die honorably than besmirch the family name."

Anger flashes in his eyes. "You listen to me boy. I enrolled you in the academy because I hoped it would straiten you out, instill some discipline. Now I don't care if you come back in a wooden box or in a victors crown. But if you behave badly, shame yourself or this family, then you will no longer be my son nor will you be allowed back in my house. Is that understood?"

_I'm not your son the moment I get on that train, and I'm never going back to your house._ I think, but I don't say it. Instead I give him the answer he wants to here. "Understood."


	4. District 2 Reaping

**Thank you to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. I love hearing your opinions on the chapters. Additionally, there are still many tribute spots next, including in District 3 (which I must have two tributes for in order to write the next chapter). Otherwise please enjoy District 2!**

District 2 Reaping

**Ariadne Landers (18)**

"There, just like a real lady." My mother steps back to admire her handiwork. The deep blue dress hugs my curves, accentuating my clavicle and bringing out the color of my eyes. My mother reaches forward to adjust the neckline, but I swat her hands away.

"That's enough, thank you." I ignore the look of hurt on her face. "Don't forget to find a spot where the cameras can see you." While the capitol usually doesn't care much about tributes families this early in the process—they save those interviews for the final eight—I know it will still look good if we can present a united front.

"Are you sure you want to do this Ari? It's not to late to back out." There are tears in my mother's eyes, and her voice reeks of desperation. "I could call the trainers, I'm sure they'd be able to fill the spot."

I fight the urge to laugh. What a stupid idea: backing out now. I haven't trained for ten years of my life to throw it all away on my mother's last-minute nerves. Especially when her fears are completely ungrounded. Afterall, they picked _me _for a reason.

Still I give her a reassuring hug. "It will be fine. I'll be the most qualified tribute in that arena."

She still looks concerned, but she doesn't press the issue. "Well then, you'd better come say goodbye to your brothers and sisters."

Facing the full attention of my family is the last thing I'd like to be doing right now, much better to spend my last hours in peace and quiet so I can mentally prepare. However, the look in her eyes tells me that this is not optional so I follow her out of my room and down the stairs into the entryway of our home.

Troy, Percival, and Noemi all work in the local administration, jobs procured for them by my father, and therefore aren't home today. Even on Reaping Day the district must continue to run smoothly. In time I'm sure Adonis, who is only a year older than me, will join them. But for now he helps my mother around the house as he studies for the local government entrance exams.

Of the eight of us, only Wolf, Carys, and I are still eligible for the Reaping. They're waiting for us in the hall. Just looking at them I can tell at once that my mother had a hand in choosing their reaping outfits: matching blue dress shirts.

"Ariadne!" Carys, who is only 12 beams and hops up and down excitedly. "Are you nervous? You must be so excited though. I wish I could see the Capitol!"

"She's just excited to show how much better District 2 is than the rest of Panem. Did you know that District 2 has the most Victors of any District?" Wolf puffs out his chest importantly. He's recently become fascinated in the history of our district and delights in telling anyone who will listen about District 2's superiority to the others, excluding the Capitol of course.

"Everyone knows that Wolf." I can't help by roll my eyes. He's right of course, but really does anyone need a lecture to see that 2 is better than those peasants in 9, 11, and 12? Our prowess in the games is evidence enough.

Only Adonis is quiet. Of all my many siblings he's the easiest to be around, asking the least questions and making the least fuss of himself. He smirks to himself as Wolf launches into a list of all of District 2's illustrious victors.

"That's enough now." My mother hushes him with a stern look. She corrals the lot of us into the living room and produces a sleek black camera.

"I want a picture of all of you." I fight the urge to scream as she takes to positioning us all around one of the plush cream sofas. I should be preparing, not posing for family portraits.

"1, 2, 3, smile!" I plaster my face with my biggest grin. The camera flashes blindingly and I blink. "Again!" She takes six or seven more, until my face aches from smiling. Finally the torment ends and I snap out of my staged position.

I wait until my mother is preoccupied by showing the picture to everyone to make my escape. Quick as I can I slip out the front door and dash down the little brick path that leads from our door to the street beyond.

I inhale the fresh summer air and let out a sigh of relief. I love my family, but the noise, the constant posing and preening, the expectation to be prim and perfect, it's all overwhelming. I'm sure anyone who grew up with seven siblings could agree. _At least they've trained me to be a good actress. _It's a skill I know will come in handy in the Games.

The streets of District 2 are largely deserted at this time in the morning. Most people are either putting on the final preparations at home, or else already congregated in front of the Justice building. In the evening that will all change as everyone celebrates the beginning of this year's Hunger Games and watches the reaping recaps. Of course, I'll be miles away from here by now, but I still savor the quiet. Heavens knows I'm not likely to get much of it in the capitol.

I pass the Ivenkoap's house on my way towards the center of town, with its perfectly manicured garden and shiny bronze door knocker. The windows are dark, the flag affixed to the front door flutters gently in the breeze. I suppose they must all already be in the square. Mr. Ivenkoap will of course be managing enforcement as head peacekeeper and I suppose his wife will want to get a good spot to watch her son volunteer.

I don't know Daruis well, regrettable as he'll soon be my greatest ally in the arena. A hulking boy, we never had many classes together in the academy. Even in basics—which everyone takes together—he had stuck close to his gang of thugs. I had known his twin sister though. We'd taken a medical class together as well as an introductory course on knifework. A sweet girl, opposite in every way to her solemn, serious brother. It had been such a tragedy when she died in that barrack fire a year later.

The closer I get to the center of town the more people throng the streets, pressing together between the tall stone buildings. Screens have been set up on street corners so that those not lucky enough to make it into the central square can still watch the event in live time.

I hesitate in the mouth of one of the alleyways. In the square beyond every twelve through eighteen year old in district 2 is queued up for sin in, or else already milling around in the roped off area in front of the Justice Building. Even from this far away I can make out the stage with its two glass bowls.

I take a deep breath. _Time for the show to begin_. I plaster a smile on my face and step out into the bright sunlight of the square.

* * *

**Darius Ivenkoap (18)**

District 2 is never more beautiful than it is on Reaping Day. I glance around the central square, taking in the fresh paint, carefully trimmed hedges, and celebratory banners which adorn the fronts of the blocky stone buildings. The flag of Panem hangs from every building, beneath it the smaller pennant of District 2.

My heart surges with pride_. I will be representing all this._

The people too are in a celebratory mood. Boy and girls decked out in their best clothes wait patiently to sign in while their parents lean in eagerly all around the roped off area. A few of the younger kids look scared, but for the most part everyone is excited. Behind me a cluster of girls gossips loudly about whether or not District 4 will have any volunteers this year, and in front of me two boys are placing bets on who will be first to volunteer for our spots. Afterall, its not every year that the academy candidate makes it to the stage first.

The sun is scorching today. A bead of sweat runs down the back of my neck.

A tall girl in a pink dress a few places a head of me catches my eye. With her brown hair and slender frame, she could almost have been Trey. For a moment my heart aches for my sister. Then the girl turns to say something to the dark-haired girl standing behind her and the illusion is shattered. My left hand subconsciously rises to massage the burn marks on my right arm.

The brunette who was talking to the girl in pink catches my eye and smiles widely. I nod in recognition. Ariadne will be my district partner for the next weeks. She's clearly dolled up for the event: in a figuring hugging dark blue dress that sure to make her earn her a few sponsors right off the bat.

The line shuffles forward until I find myself at the desk where the Peacekeepers are checking us all in. I recognize almost all of them instantly.

"Hey there Darius." I stop in front of a tall wiry man with a ruddy face.

"Hey Marcus." I hold out my hand so that he can prick my finger.

He stamps a bit of blood under my name and scans it on a hand held reader. "Heard you're going in this year."

"Yeah." I grin at him. "So don't go betting on anyone else this year."

Marcus laughs. "Wouldn't dream of it. You know the boys and I have got your back. We'll be rooting for you." He waves me on through into the pen where teenagers, aged twelve through eighteen are milling around.

I file into the reaping pen and look around for my friends. Someone grabs at my arm and I start before realizing its only Ariadne.

"Hi Darius." She flicks a lock of dark curly hair out of her face.

"Ariadne." I nod slightly disconcerted. She's never been exactly friendly to me at the academy.

"Ready for the big event?" Ariadne's smile is stunning, but I can help but notice that the warmth of it never reaches her eyes.

I shrug. "It's what we've trained for." I suppose that's true enough. It certainly is for Ariadne. The truth is I don't need to volunteer, had never even planned on it. My future has been laid out for me since the moment my real mother abandoned me on the head peacekeepers doorstep. First academy training, then an appointment to the Peacekeepers, maybe a few years spent enforcing the law in the outer districts before finally returning to 2 to take my adopted father's place.

But then the trainers had put my name forward as top pick for this year and everything had changed. It would have been easy to reject their offer. No one could make me volunteer, and sure some other academy rat would've jumped at the chance. Still my father always says that, "In this family we live with honor." And what could be more honorable than representing District 2?

"True." Ariadne laughs prettily, "Well, I'll look forward to seeing you after, Darius. Goodluck!" She slips off into the crowd without a backwards glance. I watch her go before making my way to where my friends are waiting among the other eighteen-year-old boys. They let out a few whoops as I take my place among them.

"There he is! There's District 2's next victor!" Julius high fives me

Romulus grins and thumps me on the back. "I'll be betting on you for sure."

"Not Ariadne?" He's had a crush on her for years now, not that she's ever looked twice at him.

He laughs. "That girl might have a banging body, but at the end of day she'll be cannon fodder for sure." Romulus taps the side of his head knowingly. "No brains in that pretty little head."

I shrug. He'd know better than I would. They used to train spears together, and I've never been partial to the weapon.

"Don't forget about all of us when you get to the capitol, you hear?" Julian frown in mock seriousness.

"Like I could ever forget you Jules." I laugh, "The smell alone lingers for days." They all laugh at that and Julian pretends to punch me. Despite the joke I doubt I'll forget any of them any time soon. Julian, Remus, Antony and I, we've been inseparable since our first days at the training academy. We've trained together, drank together, and gotten in more than our fair share of scrapes together. Soon they'll all be heading out too, assigned to various districts in the Peacekeeping force, but I know that despite any distance they'll have my back.

We all fall quiet as our district escort mounts the stage. A short little man with scarlet hair and permanently surprised expression, Drusus replaced our former escort only last year. He excitedly introduces himself to the crowd and proceeds to pull the first slip from the girls reaping ball. The crowd holds its breath, waiting for the inevitable volunteer.

They don't have to wait long. In no time at all Ariadne sashays up onto the stage, beaming at the audience. When Drusus asks for her name she winks at the cameras, "Ariadne Landers." I'm sure men in the capitol, and maybe even some women, are swooning.

The boys come next. Drusus pulls a slip from the bowl triumphantly and reads out the name: Casius Blaze. But the cameras don' even have time to focus on the fortunate boy before I'm shoving my way forward.

"I volunteer!" I push my way through to the front of the crowd and jog up the steps.

"Another volunteer! What an exciting day!" Drusus is practically beside himself, "And what's your name young man?"

"Darius Ivenkoap." There are cheers from my friends as well as some of the peacekeepers gathered around the square. Ariadne and I shake hands as is customary, then turn to face the square. The cameras whirr and flash.

"Ladies and gentlemen I give you the tributes for District 2!"


	5. District 3 Reaping

**Hello everyone. My apologies that this chapter took so long (there was some things in my personal life that I had to deal with). I hope you all enjoy reading about district 3, and I hope to have the district 4 chapter up soon as well.**

District 3 Reaping

**Ada Linux (13)**

The dye laden water swirls down the drain, leaving a faint pink ring line around the cracked porcelain bowl. I reach for a towel and wrap my hair up tightly to dry. The empty bottle I discard in the bin. No doubt this will be the last time I color my hair; luxuries like hair dye are expensive in District 3 and I'd only managed to snag this bottle because it'd been long past it's expiration date.

"Ada! Are you still in there?" My mom's voice calls out from the other side of door.

She shakes her head at the sight of my wrapped head and the stained sink beyond. "You know he hates it when you do that."

I can't help but smile a little. "That's why I do it." My father and I get on like Cesium and Water, which is to say disastrously. "Do I still have to stay the weekend with him?"

My mother sighs. It's an argument we have almost every week, not that the outcome ever changes. "You need to spend time with him, he's your father and he cares about you. Besides I have extra shifts in the hardware factory." That's what its usually comes down to: work. Life in District 3 is expensive and since they divorced my mother has had to take on extra just to keep food on the table.

I chew the inside of my cheek. "I guess." Even when I do go to my father's house I don't end up spending much time there. He's never been the hands on type and there's nothing to stop me sneaking out onto the roof of one of the old electronics factories to watch the stars.

My mother tosses her long brown hair. "Anyways, I didn't come to argue with you about you hair." She holds out a long blue dress. "New reaping clothes, I daresay you outgrew that yellow dress from last year." I take the dress. The soft blue fabric is obviously worn, but still in decent condition. My mother smiles. "I used to wear it to my reapings. Maybe it will give you luck."

"Thank you." I smile. "Hopefully I won't need too much luck though." My name is only entered twice this year. Compare that to kids from poorer families, who've been taking out tesserae since age twelve the odds are distinctly in my favor.

My mother cups my cheek with her palm. Tall and slender, with her glossy brown hair its like looking at an older version of myself. She smiles, although I can still the worry in her eyes. "You better go get dressed then. The reaping starts in an hour."

* * *

**Malcolm Joyner (16)**

The gears in my pocket clink and rattle as I shuffle forward in line. I pinch one of the little bolts between my thumb and forefinger, the cool metal giving me strength for the ordeal ahead.

"Next." The white armored peacekeeper snaps her fingers at me and I stumble forward to the check in desk. "Name?"

"Malcolm Joyner." My voice shakes and I clutch the little bolt more tightly. The peacekeeper flips to the J section of her ledger.

"Hand please." I hold out my left arm and she pricks the tip of my finger, stamping the blood under my name. A little device—no doubt made here in District 3—reads the sample. _Malcolm Joyner_ flashes across the little digital screen. She waves me into the holding pen. "Next please."

The roped off area in front of the Justice building is already packed. I push and shove my way through the crowd to the area where the other sixteen-year-old boys have gathered. District 3 is relatively large, so I don't recognize all the faces around me. A few people are talking quietly, but most just stand silently, eyes fixed forward in quiet terror. Maybe they celebrate the Games in some districts—they certainly do in the Capitol—but here in District 3 the words Hunger Games are synonymous with a death sentence.

I wait quietly with the rest, fiddling with the scraps in my pocket. I wish I'd brought more. If I could build something right now maybe it would take my mind off the fact I could be drawn this year.

Thankfully distraction in another form comes soon enough. My friend Thatcher finds me, sidling up to stand next to me.

"Hey Malcolm." His face is ashy but he musters up a smile. "Ready for this year's games?"

I shrug. "Is anyone ever really ready?" Since I was old enough to understand what they were the Hunger Games have loomed over me like a dark cloud.

"It'll be fine. We've never been drawn before." Thatcher doesn't sound very convinced of his own words, but in truth he has far less to be worried about than I do. His father is the floor director in one of the factories, no one in his family has ever had to take a tesserae, meaning the likelihood he'll be drawn is relatively low. Not like mine. Each year I take out 3 tesserae in addition to my own slip. Next year it will be four, an additional slip added for my new sister.

20\. That's how many times my name is entered this year. I run the figures in my head, trying to estimate how many other slips are in that bowl, and how large the changes of mine being drawn are. The odds are okay, I decide, not the best nor the worst.

Still I find it unfair. The whole tesserae system is designed to punish the poorest kids in the districts. Not that rich kids don't get drawn from time to time, but not often. And no one ever volunteers.

"I guess you're right." I try to smile, battering down the nerves rise like butterflies in my stomach.

Thatcher looks around clearly searching for a distraction.

"That's new." He points to one of the cameras perched atop one of the buildings adjacent to the Justice Building.

"Hmm." I follow his eyes to the reporter. "It looks like they've redesigned the focusing lenses. They'll have better zoom."

"How can you tell that from all the way over here?"

I shrug. I've always been good at putting things together, almost as good as I am at taking them apart.

At half past eleven Lucretia Artilla bounces up onto the platform. As always she's outfitted herself in a ridiculous combination of clothes, this year feather atop a wild pink mood. She waves at us all.

"Helloooo District 3!" I've never understood why, but Lucretia has always spoken like she's about to announce the winner of some fantastic prize. Maybe that's how they see it in the Capitol? To them the Games are an honor rather than a death sentence. "Welcome to this year's reaping. I'm sure you're all excited to meet this year's tributes!" She babbles on for a few more minutes about honor and national pride. Behind her the Victors what will be acting as mentors sit beside the mayor and other district officials. Beetee looks impatient as always while Nitra dozes through Lucretia's monologue.

Finally, Lucretia finishes expounding on the 'symbiotic relationship between the Capitol and the Districts' and turns her attention to the matter at hand. "As you all know we are here to select one young gentlemen and lady to represent District 3 in the 55th Hunger Games. As is tradition, ladies will go first." She crosses the stage, the click click of her heals audible in the tense silence. Lucretia reaches into the first bowl and pulls out a single white slip with a flourish. "This year's female tribute will be: Ada Linux."

There's a little gasp from somewhere in the crowd and a girl disentangles herself from the thirteen-year-old section. She's tall and lanky, with brown hair died a shocking pink at the ends. I try to recall if I've seen her in school before but any memory of the girl escapes me. The crowd waits in silence as she makes her way up onto the stage, stumbling slightly on the stairs. Lucretia extends a hand to her and helps her up the last few. Even at a distance Ada Linux's face is like a mask, not quite concealing her terror.

"Excellent!" Lucretia claps her hands. "And now the gentlemen."

My heart thunders in my chest as she reaches one manicured hand into the bowl where 20 of my slips are waiting. I clutch the gears in my pocket so tightly that I can feel the rough metal edges draw blood. Next to me I hear Thatcher suck in his breath.

Up on stage Lucretia unfolds the unlucky slip. "Malcolm Joyner! Congratulations!"

* * *

**Ada Linux (13)**

I bounce my knees up and down. I can feel where the velvet of the sofa has grown damp under my palms.

"It will be alright. It will be fine." My mother murmurs petting my hair. I know she's lying. No one my age has ever won the Games, much less from district 3. There will be kids from the career districts that could snap me like a branch. My mother knows all this. If anything, she's trying to convince herself.

Across from us on a plush chair sits my father. He's dressed up today, somehow actually managed to make himself look presentable. I eye him mistrustfully, waiting for him to start shouting at me, to tell me that he's glad that I've been reaped, that it's a good riddance. He does none of those things, instead patting my mother's hand as if to reassure her.

"She'll be just fine Alice, our Ada's a tough girl." He fixes me with his eagle eyes.

"Tougher than nails." My mother laughs a little, giving me a watery smile. "I remember when you were only eight. You got send home from school because Lewis Brighten tried to take your lunch and you hit him over the head with your textbook, knocked him right out."

My father squeezes her hand. "See what I mean. She's a fighter."

I remember that day too, sitting nervously in the principle's office, much like I'm now sitting in the Justice Building. Only Lewis hadn't tried to take my lunch—that was something I'd made up at the office—he'd been talking about my family, calling my mother a _ and my father a drunk. The later might have been true but I wasn't about to let anyone bandy that rumor around.

Still I let the memory give my mother a false sense of hope. There will be much worse bullies in the Hunger Games than Lewis Brighten.

There's a rough knock on the door and we all jump. The voice of a peacekeeper calls out. "Time's up."

My parents rise to go, my mother subsiding into a fresh wave of tears. She embraces me in a tight hug as the peacekeeper throws open the door.

"Be safe." She whispers.

I could almost laugh because there's nothing safe about where I'm going. Instead I return the hug and murmur, "You know I will."

She slips out the open door but my father hesitates. I'm so used to seeing him angry, raging, or else stonily indifferent to my presence. Now he's crying, something I've never seen him do, not during the divorce, not even when he was drunk out of his mind. The sight of it is almost more shocking than hearing my name being read out, almost.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again as if thinking better of what he was about to say.

I cross my arms. "Well spit it out." My words sound harsh even to my own ears.

"I know we haven't always gotten along Ada." He pauses and I know he's feeling the weight of thirteen years of resentment and neglect, "But I want you to know that I'll be rooting for you." He presses something into my palm and gives me a final hug. Only after they've gone do I open my hand and look down at what he's left me. It's a ring, simple made of scraps of twisted rubber, the kind you'd find in one of the factories. I slip it on my finger. _Thank you._


End file.
